I'm A Thirteen Year Old Girl
by everyone'ssister
Summary: Tag for 12.04, American Nightmare. Sam got hit on the head affording us some comic relief! Concussion!Sam


I'M A THIRTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL

Dean can be a pain in the ass. He can be infuriating. He can be immature. The thing is the people around him, the people closest to him...the people he loves and the people who love him get to deal with Dean for the better and the worse. Most of the time Dean was the best of men, the brother and son and best friend to make anyone green with envy.

But sometimes he just can't, sometimes he gets stuck and he can't move on. And those people he loves, who love him deal with it. Because they love him, because he does the same for them...because he is the best of men, the best brother, son and friend.

So Sam has to hold it when Dean doesn't want to pull over, Mary sighs when she reads his text and sends a loving reply...the witnesses take a step back from him and observe him a little more warily. And of course somehow the women are rather attracted to it.

Sam is upset by the deaths in their case but when Magda lays her head on his shoulder and Dean is smiling and talking and seeming like he's getting over his melancholy his spirits are lifting. Dean stands on the other side of the impala and smiles at him and says he'll stop being such a dick.

More like a child, Sam thinks fondly with an enduring sigh.

He got banged on the head pretty good and honestly this whole case hit a little close to home both with the family separation issues, and parental hostility against the psychic daughter. He just wants to get home and drown himself in tv, a book...anything else to occupy his mind before he drifts off to sleep.

Dean's fingers are thrumming on the impala's wheel to something playing low on the radio. He's happy. Sam smiles. Doesn't know the cause, doesn't really care is only happy too. He slouches down, head leaning against the back of the seat eyes gazing out to the horizon across Baby's sleek hood.

The sun is setting, casting shadows of trees onto the road so as they drive past everything is covered in golden stripes. It's peaceful. It's perfect. Sam sighs happily, hisses as a bump in the road causes some pressure to his head and turns it to avoid it happening again.

This finds him staring into Dean's concerned eyes.

"You okay?" His brother's gravely, deep voice asks in a hushed voice. Sam smiles knowing even Dean doesn't want to break the serenity of the moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure? ...I can pull over." He hears the mischievous smirk in Dean's voice before he sees it gracing the recently glum face.

Sam snorts, "A little late for that."

"If you don't have to pee we can get you some ice or something for your head." Dean offers, but Sam knows he's fondly mocking him.

"I made sure to pee plenty before we left, thank you very much." Sam says, not about to experience the hour of agony he'd born yesterday.

Dean snorts this time, waving a hand carelessly. "A full bladder and a concussion are too very different things Sammy."

"Painful, annoying..." Sam begins to count off their similarities and Dean rolls his eyes surrendering.

"Alright alright...pit stop for bathroom or concussion whichever you like Sammy." Dean complies, and Sam knows he's getting some fun out of this whole exchange.

Sam just groans and crosses his arms across his chest after pulling his jacket closer around him. "Pit stop at home, no sooner."

Dean just smirks.

"What are you so smug about?" Sam asks suspiciously.

"Cause I knew you just wanted to get home and didn't want to stop...that's why I offered. Do anything for you Sammy." He sends Sam a sarcastic love sick face that Sam sticks his tongue out to.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

...

An hour later a song switches on rousing Sam a little from his nap.

Vince Vincente. From the 'album that didn't totally suck'.

Dean notices he's awake.

"Can we address the fact that you actually like this crap?"

"Can we not?" Sam grumbles back.

"You suck, your taste sucks...almost as bad as the actual Vince Vincente sucks."

"Ugh, shut up." Sam grunts after a yawn, shifting trying to find another comfortable position so he can drift off to sleep again. "The devil sucks worse than either of us."

"Satan does suck." Dean finally agrees.

"Satan sucks," Sam giggles under his breath just as he slips under again.

...

"Stop it Dean," he whines petulantly as Dean shakes his shoulder insistently.

"C'mon Sammy, we home." Dean says, their stuff in hand and on Sam's side of the car already.

"Lemme just stay here...comfortable."

"Pfft," Dean takes Sam's arm and begins to gently put firmly pry him from Baby's soft, worn leather seat. "Not likely, not with that pea sized bladder."

"I hate you." Dean barely makes out Sam's mumbled retaliation for dragging him from sleep, he just smiles at the harsh words.

"You're such a baby."

"YOU'RE such a baby," Sam mouths back.

"And also lame apparently." Dean snarks. He grabs Sam as he weaves a little in the hallway. "Woah little brother, there's that concussion I was talking about."

Sam just grunts in response and leans against his brother unconsciously.

"Time for bed," Dean says, leading the way to Sam's room.

Dean turns the door knob and swings it open. Cool air rushes towards them and Sam sighs contentedly in Dean's ear. The light from the hall illuminates their way and Sam immediately plops down on his hard mattress. Dean turns on the lamp.

"Off with the boots," he reminds and Sam grumbles as he props himself up on his elbow and barely manages to kick off his shoes. "C'mon that jacket and shirt too."

"Leave me alone," Sam whines as he does as Dean says.

"Quit complaining, you'll thank me later."

"Rather die," he retorts sleepily.

Dean just shakes his head and starts trying to jerk the covers from under Sam so he can cover his gigantic form. Sam slaps at his hands but Dean just pushes him towards his pillows gently. "Sit still Sammy," he presses, "You can sleep in a minute."

He laughs as Sam jerks the corner of his quilt from Dean's hands and pulls it over himself. He snuggles down into his pillow and brings the blanket up around him like a protective layer from Dean's pestering.

Dean's laugh rings out strong and fond at the cute picture he makes, Sam blinks at him from under his blanket for a moment. He finally gives Dean an odd, sleepy smile before his shoulder comes up in a drowsy half shrug.

"I'm glad you're happy again, De." He slurs into his pillow.

Dean laughs again and leans to turn off the lamp.

"We're both officially thirteen year old girls now."

...

Thx for reading! Review maybe?! ;);)


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